


Mysteries Just Find Me

by ExperimentalFeminist



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExperimentalFeminist/pseuds/ExperimentalFeminist
Summary: Ever wonder why Nancy and the Boys never age (besides the fact they've had approximately ten spin-offs and reboots by now)? Why a small town described as "an hour from New York City" or "a suburb of Chicago" could go completely unnoticed by tourists? Or why all the main detective characters seem to be skilled in pretty much every sport and craft under the sun? And why, for the love of all that is good and fandom, this series keeps having so many variations with so little continuity?Well, this is one possible explanation...Connected to this somewhat but not a required read: Edge of Seventeen, an ongoing OUAT fan fiction of mine that friends have told me is so AU you don't have to have watched the show to understand it, if you're interested (yes I just plugged myself. I'm a lonely author, don't yell at me).





	1. The Origin of Edward

A long time ago…or a long time in the future, depending on how you look at it. It’s complicated...oh, but I’m getting ahead of myself. All you need to know is that it’s the year 1887, and a young man - we’ll call him Ed – is sitting in the back of a shop on his break, scribbling words in a small notebook. His boss comes in and smacks him in the back of the head.

“All that schooling and you’re still hung up on those silly novels?” the boss says with a thick German accent from his homeland. He’s glaring. Ed’s in trouble – as if that’s not obvious enough.

His boss is also his dad. They’re in his dad’s tobacco shop. So, he’s probably gonna be in trouble at home too, but at least he can’t get fired.

Ed ducks his head contritely, stuffing the notebook in his pocket as he gets up to man the storefront. His family doesn’t really count as “wealthy,” per say. Ed runs a printing press in the basement of the tobacco store. The press pumps out pamphlets, not novels, and makes a small amount of money, which probably is why his dad is cool with it. They’re in New England – Elizabeth, New Jersey, to be exact. The Civil War is over and in general, life is good.

Unless, of course, you’re Ed, and all you want to do is write those novels.

His dad – a gent named Henry, by the way – leaves him alone again, satisfied that his kid isn’t slacking on the job. Ed puts his head in his hands. The shop stinks as it smells like its wares. He zones out.

The door swings open just as he’s dozing off. He scrambles to alertness…only to find a well-dressed black woman standing before him.

“Can…I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh, no, Edward. I’m here to help you.”

Ed’s creeped out now. Random ladies shouldn’t know his name. She took a pamphlet out of her purse – one just like the ones he makes out of his press.

“I’ve seen your work. It’s good. My name is Zinessa.”

Well, she certainly doesn’t have a normal name. “Thank you…Ms. Zinessa.”

“I have a proposition to make. I speak on behalf of my employer, Mr. Ambrosius. You’ll find he just moved into the offices down the street from here. He would like to speak with you. Would Monday afternoon after your shift suit you?”

“So you’re his…maidservant? Doing errands for him.”

“Nonsense, young man. I’m his apprentice. Now, will you come?”

Monday afternoon was his only time off besides Sundays. This woman is still creeping him out, but as he wishes very much to get out of his dad’s tobacco shop, so he agrees to the meeting.

“Excellent. We look forward to seeing you there…Edward Stratemeyer.”

*******************

“Ed, come in. Your reputation proceeds you.”

The man before him is even stranger than Zinessa, if that’s possible. A black man in a tailored suit sits before him, looking not much older than Ed’s 23 years. Ed wonders if he’s even old enough to have fought in the War Between the States, supposing that young success must come from prior success on the battle field. Perhaps he got connections there. He rejects this, though. Mr. Ambrosius doesn’t look like a soldier.

“I’m afraid I’m at a bit of a loss as to how you’ve heard of me. I’ve never been published.”

“But you’ve been submitting your pieces to publications for years. You run your own printing press out of a shop basement. That’s impressive for a young man, even if you’re not published yet. And we’ve seen that work.”

“I…just write as a passion, sir,” Ed says. “I always loved Horatio Alger and William T. Adams’ work growing up. I admire people who get things done and don’t let their circumstances get them down. People who create adventure for themselves and help people along the way. Even while I can’t.”

“And it’s exactly that passion that we’re looking for.” Mr. Ambrosius says. Zinessa slides a row of pens towards Ed.

“Bit of a peculiar question, I know,” she says. “But which of these pens speaks to you?”

Ed stares at the two people before him like they have two heads…each….before humoring them. He glances at the various pens before picking up a quill.

_It starts glowing._

Zinessa and Mr. Ambrosius grin with delight. “I think we’ve found our next Author,” the black man says.

“What witchcraft are you two playing at?” Ed demands, frightened.

“Only that you have found the power that’s been inside you all along,” Zinessa says calmly. “Look – wave your pen in the air.”

Ed obliges and to his surprise, a door appears out of thin air. Shaking, he turns the handle.

The view on the other side of the door is that of a shore road bordered with cliffs. Opposite the cliffs is a small town surrounded by forest.

“Bayport. A town built towards the turn of the last century,” Mr. Ambrosius states. “Wonderful, peculiar people landed there. Still live there, too.”

“You mean their descendants live there,” Ed says, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see. Quite a story there,” is all Zinessa will say. The view outside the door changes again, this time to a Midwestern town near an old battlefield, and then to more towns, and then to a blank expanse of…

Space. Millions of stars and a few prominent planets and _space_.

Ed stares in awe.

“It’s all yours for the exploring, young Author,” Mr. Ambrosius says solemnly. “The Pen chooses the Author just as much as you choose it. Remember that with that pen, you write reality into being, so it is wisest to tell tales faithfully, lest something go terribly wrong.”

****************

It takes over 30 years – to 1924 - for Ed to actually get to Bayport – which, it turned out, was also in New Jersey.

As he walks along that infamous shore road, he was bored.

He’d seen no pedestrians along it. He supposed cars would have a hard time getting up the narrow path, but that shouldn’t have precluded bikers and walkers.

He is older and married now. Owns a growing publishing syndicate. Has two adult daughters. They know about his powers, and how he uses them to, well, keep them living well. His oldest and more adventurous child, Harriet, keeps bugging him every chance she gets to let her leave Wellesley college and join him on his adventures. He hasn’t seen Zinessa or Mr. Ambrosius in all that time.

The town is calm enough. No one will really talk to him beyond polite general hospitality. Everyone _looks_ normal enough. It seems to be a regular sleepy seaside town – even sleepier than the town of Elizabeth.

The one tidbit he has picked up is that there is something wrong with the “Old Polucca Place.”

Young children whisper to each other that the place is haunted. Adults, being the more reasonable but less imaginative sort typically, whisper that the place is collapsing in on itself and unsafe for anyone to tread within.

It sounds like the perfect place for a mystery for Ed.

As he approaches the old house, though, he hears scuffling. Rough voices. Someone groaning from within.

“Oh shut up, Hardy,” a voice that seems much too deep to be human growls. “You brought this upon yourself.”

“I’m warning you,” a weaker voice says. “You’ve still got time to give up.”

Ed’s already crept into the house, old man joints and all, and silently closed the door behind him. As near as he can tell, the voices are coming from upstairs, up a rickety, splintering staircase. He starts climbing.

“We’re sick of you on our trail, Hardy. When we set this place to blow, we won’t have to worry about that anymore, and you won’t be able to escape, in the state you’re in.”

“That’s what you think. I’m giving you one more chance to surrender yourselves.”

The criminals only cackle. Ed is peeking through the crack in the door now. Sees a man bound and foot and black and blue besides staring up defiantly at a group of…well, quite frankly, they look like immensely muscular, 7-foot-tall humans but with blue skin and small blue spikes down their bald heads and cascading down their backs and shoulders, but _that_ couldn’t be right because that was impossible. Isn’t it? Is this theatre?

“Little history lesson for you lads,” Hardy says, grunting. Ed now realized that the wounded man had a British accent. “The rest of your quadrant gets court marshalled by the Judoon a century or two from now and spend the rest of your days in prison. Your people’s planet gets infested with trash and they end up having to live in an Ood colony. A freaking Ood colony.”

“Rich predictions coming from the man on the floor,” one of the blue men grunted, but they all began to look more nervous.

“How do you even know about…” one of the men got cuffed before he could finish his sentence.

“Oh, haven’t I told you? I’m not just Mr. Hardy. I’m the Spy. Time Lord.”

The blue men recoil in fear as Ed stared in confusion. “You’re bluffing,” one of them insisted.

“Am I? You’ve had your fun, and your chance. Though, I do believe I have the most human reason for being alive right now: I’ve got a wife and kids. My wife is pregnant with our second born, and my older sister’s visiting and making her famous chili. So you know what lads? It’s been nice talking to you” – Mr. Hardy, or “The Spy,” is gasping for air right now and Ed is growing increasingly concerned for his health – “But _I’ve got something to live for._ ” Turning to look directly in Ed’s eyes suddenly, he winces and adds, “Oops, civilian. Um, Sir, I’d _duck_ if I were you.”

And then he explodes.

Well, perhaps that’s not the right word for it – and Ed’s a master of words, so he should know – but Mr. Hardy turns to _pure blazing light_ with the light shooting out of every part of his body. Ed luckily does duck so he narrowly misses being hit by one of the lightning blasts which do hit the offending blue people, making them burn and tumble lifelessly to the ground.

Several moments later, the blazing stops.

And a completely different man in the same clothes as Mr. Hardy is sitting, unharmed, in his place. He blinks several times, looking around and surveying the situation as if checking to make sure of…something.

“Ah. Well, suppose I was overdue for that,” the man wearing Mr. Hardy’s clothes mutters, puzzled but calm. His accent is still from somewhere in the British Isles but it’s different too. Glancing over at Ed, he calls out, “You quite alright there, sir? Sorry to scare you.”

Ed is struggling for words now. “What…what are you? What…what happened to him?” he finally says.

“What am I? Bit rude. Not great at making friendly acquaintances, are you?” the mystery man says. “As for what happened to him, well, I _am_ him. I’m still Mr. Hardy. I just regenerated.”

“Regenerated…?”

“Yes, regenerated. Seeing as you’ve heard my name, I feel a bit at a disadvantage.”

Ed finally rights himself. “Right. Edward. Edward Stratemeyer. You’re…well, you’re nothing short of fascinating, that’s for sure, Mr. Hardy.”

The new Mr. Hardy finally smiles. “Please. Call me Fenton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an explanation: There's a scene in season 4b of OUAT that has an Author (yes, capital A) being chosen. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LExIXFmUl9Y , for your interest). This is based very much on that idea. In OUAT lore, the apprentice assigns the role of Author with that pen power to one guy at a time. Walt Disney is an "Author," for instance (OUAT is fantasy and based on Disney and owned by the company, after all). THAT author in the scene turned out to be an ass. Also, Merlin is a black dude in the show - and a very handsome dude, if I do say so myself. Zinessa is all my creation.


	2. Origin of Edward, Part 2

A Mexican woman opens the door of the Hardy home.

“Ah, hello, Eleia,” Mr. Hardy greets her. The woman raises an eyebrow. “It’s me,” he tries again, this time reaching for her hand.

Seconds pass before an expression of recognition reaches Eleia’s face, Ed notes.

“Oh, Fenton,” she cries. She presses him close in a hug. “I was so worried. You’ve been gone for days.” Turning to Ed, she puts one hand on her hip. “And I see you’ve met our newcomer.”

“Eleia, I’d like you to meet Edward. He was…a witness, of sorts, to what went down. The Bondi should not be bothering Bayport anymore, that’s for certain.”

“Bondi? Is that what the group of…those men, called themselves?” Ed inquires. He pulls a notebook and a little pencil, flipping to a fresh page as he did. Eleia gives him a wary sideways look as he did.

“Do tell your help that I mean no harm,” Ed offers. “I’m only a curious traveler, traveling through.”

“You’re speaking in front of his wife,” Eleia says bluntly.

“…Oh…Congratulations on the pregnancy!”

Eleia is not amused.

“Perhaps if we all came inside, we could discuss things better,” Fenton offers. After sharing a look with Eleia, she nodded and they went inside.

Entering the house, a small sandy-haired boy runs up to the group. He slides to a halt as he sees the two men. He quickly moves to hide behind his mother’s skirts.

“Francis, it’s alright honey. That’s Daddy,” Eleia says gently. The boy looks halfway convinced. He cautiously stepped forward and looked up at Fenton. Fenton bends down to his level and whispered something to him, which seemed to convince the child the rest of the way as he threw his arms around his father’s neck and Fenton picks up him, chuckling.

“Does this sort of confusion go down every time this happens?” Ed asks. Francis grips his father’s shirt more tightly at the sound of Ed’s voice.

“This…hasn’t happened in front of him before,” Fenton says nervously. “He knows what regeneration is, of course, though. Don’t you, son?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Francis says quietly, still staring at Ed. “But I can see…”

“Not now, son…we’ll talk about it later, alright?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Bit of a persistent little rascal, isn’t he?” Ed quips. “How old is he?”

“He’s four,” Eleia says. “He’s learning many things in school, right, dear?”

“Yep!”

“…Though he has the teachers pulling their hair out with all his questions. You and he have that in common.” There it is again. Eleia really didn’t like him it seemed.

“Umm…” before he can defend himself, a spritely woman comes out of the kitchen carrying a bit pot. She is dressed in a dark blue skirt and a white blouse, with her brown hair cut into a neat bob, and to Ed’s horror she takes one look at Eleia and decided to join her in glaring at Ed.

“What is everyone doing out here?” she asks. “Fenton, I’m glad you’re back, but I’ll not have you neglecting eating right after you’ve regenerated.”

“Of course, Gertrude,” Fenton says. “Everyone, into the kitchen. You too, Mr. Stratemeyer – Edward.”

“So, what is it you do for a living, Mr. Stratemeyer?” Eleia asks as they sat down.

“I’m a writer. I run a publishing syndicate. I’m looking for new stories to write. Please…tell me, do these ‘Bondi’ always dress up like that?”

“Dress up?” Gertrude asks. “I wouldn’t call it that. They rarely ever even wear shirts.”

“I meant the blue paint on their skin. And the spikes.”

Eleia sighs. “That wasn’t a costume. That’s their skin.”

“Well, yes, it’s their skin, but why is it blue?”

“Because that’s their skin color.”

“Oh…kay?”

“Look, they’re…and we’re…not from…here.” Eleia is clearly being cautious with her word choice. “How…how much does he know, Fenton?”

“He saw me regenerate.”

“Well, then you shouldn’t be so surprised to hear all this, should you, Mr. Stratemeyer?” Gertrude clearly isn’t one for mincing words.

“Where are you from?” Ed asks, praying he can get some more information without ruffling more feathers.

“A…place. Called Gallifrey. We’re refugees,” Fenton says.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ed says contritely. “Was there famine or war?”

“War,” Fenton answers. “And some…peoples, like the Bondi, followed us here to wreak havoc.”

“That’s terrible. Have you informed the government?”

Gertrude snorts at that. Ed stares at her.

“Government doesn’t care. They barely know we exist, if at all. Quite frankly, it would make more people safer if they didn’t know about the Bondi…and others…rather than to take it to the government,” Fenton says. “I work as a detective. Used to be NYPD. I still sometimes work with Scotland Yard and…other European organizations.”

“That’s noble of you,” Ed says earnestly. “Though isn’t that dangerous for your children and…for you, Eleia?”

“I work with Fenton,” she says, surprising her human guest. “Francis is well aware of our work, and his sibling will know too.”

“But…you’re a woman?”

“Librarian.”

“But…then who will take care of them? Unless that’s what you do, Miss Hardy.”

“ _Please._ I work as a nanny. I’m too busy caring for other people’s children.”

“I take care of them,” Eleia says, interrupting everyone. “It’s not hard for me to work my schedule around it. Besides, I teach Francis many things his school doesn’t teach.”

“You’re a very dedicated mother, then,” Ed says admiringly.

“Yes, I am.”

“I tell you what…you’ve told me about your lives, I will share a part of mine,” Ed says. “I have a…sort of magic power.” He pulls out his pen. “With this pen, I record my adventures. My syndicate specifically writes novels for children – something no one has ever really done before, so I have to go all over searching for stories to tell. It just so happens I’ve been trying to come up with a story about two young teen brothers who are detectives.”

There is a moment of silence.

“No.”

Ed whips his head around to see Gertrude glaring. “I didn’t even finish…”

“No. That’s a Avalonian pen. I know one when I see it. And you will not control my brother’s children with that thing.”

“But think of it!” Ed burst out. “Your children, you just told me, will join you in your war against crime and malicious creatures. They will beat the odds against them just like you did! How is that not a great story?”

“It isn’t when you’re messing with the lives of real people,” Gertrude maintains.

“How can you look at a primary school student and a literal fetus and only think ‘hooray, there are people I can exploit for monetary gain?” Eleia adds.

“It’s not like that!” Ed counters. “I only want to inspire children to follow their example. To be good citizens of America. Alien or human, they could change the world just by being in connection with the story.“

“I’ve heard enough,” Gertrude says. Reaching into a bag that Ed hadn’t seen before, she pulled out an umbrella. Figuring she was only leaving the house, Ed stood up to let her pass, but then he saw her pull down on the handle of the umbrella and reveal that not only could it detach, but it was shaped like the head of a bird and extended into a honest-to-God cutlass.

“ _En gard_ , Mr. Stratemeyer,” Gertrude growls.

“What the…that is quite unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“Like it’s unnecessary to manipulate the live of real children!?”

Eleia stood up and stood next to her sister-in-law. Fenton calmly stands up and sighs. “Ladies, hold on.”

“Exactly. If we could all just talk about this calmly as adults…”

“I’m protecting you from them,” Fenton interrupts. “You’re forgetting me, though. Little tip: never piss off a Gallifreyan right after they’ve regenerated. You are not welcome in this house anymore. So leave.”

Ed gapes at them.

Gertrude raises her cutlass and chased him out of the house.

***************

Ed is scribbling in his notebook for the whole time he’s riding the train to Harriet. The Timelords are right about one thing – no one will be able to believe aliens exist, certainly not in the form of humanoid people. He writes little notes down – two brothers, an old abandoned house, smugglers, a stay-at-home but otherwise irrelevant mother (he renames her Laura and makes her blonde), a crotchety spinster aunt, a father who trains his children to be miniature models of himself, and all the American virtue he can cram into scattered outlines and notes. With a little help from his pen, he quickly figures out where else these “Time lords” live. He knows he’ll need to choose a ghostwriter. The story is already far too big for him to handle alone on top of all his other book projects, and he makes a note to check if any of contacts know of some young man game enough to take his “Hardy Boys” on. As he strolls to Harriet’s dorm, he formulates a plan.

She greets him on the front porch and throws her arms around him. “Dad! Oh, I so hoped you’d be able to visit. Classes are such a bore – what’s your latest adventure been like?”

“Dear Harriet…I think I might need your help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Mary Poppins just brandished a cutlass.


	3. The Origin of Harriet (Part 1)

Harriet Stratemeyer had noticed when she was younger that while she could see into the doorways her father opened, when she reached out to touch them, it was like touching a painting. Her father, though, holding his pen, could walk right through, disappearing as he did into the image and taking the image of the door with him. She’d tried swishing the pen around like he did, figuring it must work like a magic wand given its wonderous qualities, but that didn’t work either.

She needed something inherently her father’s in order to work it, was her best guess.

Her father didn’t actually want her to leave the premises of the estate, though. Only to edit his manuscripts. So, with his permission, she used some of his blood on the tip of the pen. Her father would not stand for the thought of her travelling alone through the thing. She knew he loved her and encouraged her mind all through her childhood, but Harriet sometimes wondered if he still saw her as the rough-and-tumble 8-year-old rather than the grown woman she knew she was…or maybe that she wanted to prove herself to be. Edna, her younger sister, was too appalled at the notion of using blood to want join her – she’d always been the one who fit the “stay at home” life better, anyway. 

She ended up reluctantly asking her ex-boyfriend from high school, Henry “Junior” Jones, to come with. It pleased her father more than it pleased her.

And that’s how she got to River Heights…and also ended up time-traveling to the year 1917.

*********************************

Olivia “Livie” Morgan was a girl who liked to keep to herself.

She went to school in one of the segregated schools outside River Heights, not because the town itself mandated it but because the state of Illinois encouraged it. She got decent grades, though her favorite was chemistry – marking her as an oddity among the students, as she was, well, a girl. Girls weren’t expected to like science, let alone pursue it. A lot of the adults thought she was weird, which meant a lot of the students learned to think of her as weird.

So, she’d spend a lot of time after school in the high school science lab, doing work for her teachers mostly, and this was all by the age of fourteen. It impressed the higher-ups in her school so much that they rarely bothered her or asked about her home life.

Which was good. Because she didn’t have a home life.

Livie Morgan was homeless.

Well, maybe “homeless” wasn’t the right word for it. She squatted in the home that used to be her parents’ long ago. She was far too proud to ask for charity, to the point that she’d actually participate in serving soup kitchens so that no one would question why she was taking food home. The more time she spent at the school, the less time she spent having to deal with…everything else that came with living in the early 1900s as a black child.

One of the bright spots in her life was seeing Nancy.

Natalia “Nancy” Drew was a precocious 8-year-old with blonde curls and blue eyes that made many a stranger burst with delight at how she looked like a little doll, much to the child’s dismay. Livie noticed how almost immediately after starting school a few years back, Nancy had latched on to another two other little girls, one blonde like her and one possibly bi-racial with tight curly black hair like Livie herself, and the three children would run amok on the weekends exploring their neighborhood. It made Livie smile when she watched them. She knew Nancy lived with her father and her mother wasn’t in the picture – most likely deceased, given Mr. Drew’s solemn but kind nature whenever Livie saw him. On Nancy’s last birthday, Livie had scraped together what money she had in order to buy Nancy a notebook to write her adventures in.

On this particular day, Nancy ran up to Livie on her way home from the lab. “Livie, look!” She opened her notebook to a page with colorful smudges and writing on it. “I’ve been recording all the different inks and paints I find.”

“Good thinking, Nancy,” Livie said, nodding. “It looks like you’ve got a lot.”

“My papa says next I should start looking handwriting,” Nancy said. “Soon I’ll be able to tell you who wrote anything just by looking at it!” She hugged her notebook excitedly to her chest.

“I can’t wait,” Livie said. Out of the side of her vision, she saw an irritable-looking white woman glaring at her.

“Unless you’re her nanny, I’d suggest you scurry off to wherever you’re from,” the woman said. “And if you are her nanny, you should keep her cleaner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Livie said, frowning. Glancing at Nancy, she said, “You should head on home.”

“I will. Don’t worry about Mrs. Topham,” Nancy assured her. “She’s just not like you or me.”

“Is that her issue now? I’ll keep that in mind,” Livie said, amused. “I’ll see you later, Nancy.”

“See you, Livie!”

As Livie turned down her street, she didn’t see the wooden door appear and open in the middle of Main Street, and she certainly didn’t see the two figures jump out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, "Junior" exists because I found THIS yesterday: https://indianajones.fandom.com/wiki/Nancy_Stratemeyer   
> ...and now instead of waving it off as irrelevant I decided to use it a little bit.


	4. The Origin of Harriet (Part 2)

“What dimension have we landed in? I thought you said this was supposed to be a small town in the Midwest?”

Junior’s jarring Western accent pulled Harriet out of her thoughts.

“I’m…not sure,” Harriet muttered. “Maybe if we found someone to talk to…” She spotted a woman in a large hat and a long dress ahead of her.

“’Ey, lady!” Junior bellowed. The woman looked backwards for a moment before her expression turned to disgust and she hurried away. “Huh. Not very friendly, are they? That beats the stereotype.”

“I don’t think she’s doing it to be rude…she’s dressed up like my mother…” Harriet mused. “I think we need a newspaper.”

“What, so we can hide our faces behind it?”

“What are you paying to go to Princeton for again? Being a clown? We need the date.”

“…right.”

The two of them strolled Main Street. Harriet tried to walk slower so she would call less attention to the fact her ankles were showing. Upon spotting a newspaper outside a closed storefront, she hurried over to pick it up.

“Well, isn’t that just jake…we’ve managed to time travel.”

“Bushwa!” Junior said. “That’s impossible!”

“Evidently it is…” Harriet trailed off as she saw a little girl bending over a bush with a small magnifying glass.

“If Bess says she invited George to her party, then I believe her,” the little girl said half to herself. “The only question is, who took that invitation from George’s house?” Harriet noticed the little girl had blonde curls framing her face.

“Excuse me!” Harriet said. “Could you help us?”

The little girl looked up, quickly putting her notebook in her knapsack. “I’m just heading home, ma’am. And my father is expecting me.”

“Well…” Harriet glanced at Junior before continuing. “We’d like to meet your father. Would that be alright? Surely he doesn’t want his daughter walking alone.”

“I know what a stranger is,” the girl said. “But you may follow me if you wish, so long as you do not stop me.” And she strolled away.

Harriet and Junior exchanged a glance again before following her.

As they turned the corner though, the girl had disappeared.

****************************

Nancy had always been taught never to eavesdrop or participate in gossip, but with a mind like hers – and two hearts to boot – she often listened in on her father’s meetings with clients. She was too young, he’d always say, and no human would understand her level of intuition that she possessed at such a young age. He said she would have done well on Gallifrey had she gone to the Time Lord Academy there. It was not easy hiding her species, despite the fact that River Heights had been found not long before the Civil War by members of her own kind, including her parents, her friends’ parents, the local Judge, the police captain…enough to live in peace but not to really fit in entirely.

Today, she recognized the voices. Ms. Hoover, a grown-up human who took care of her younger sister, was coming in to drop off some eggs from her farm and Mr. Carson Drew – as he was commonly known in River Heights, despite his name being quite a bit longer in reality – had slowed her down for a chat, being the kind person that he was.

“My sister’s doing well, Mr. Drew,” she was saying. “Yesterday she got chased by our goat though, and what a mess they made! The goat ran into the chicken coop, and the chickens made such a fuss that my poor sister landed sliding in the mud!”

Mr. Drew laughed as the doorbell rang. Ms. Hoover made her retreat, saying her farewells and smiling brightly as she saw the young Nancy, which made Nancy grin. She liked nice human adult humans.

Mr. Drew walked past Nancy, giving her a look of “behave” as he opened the door to reveal a man in farmers’ gear.

“Mr. Matthews, I’ve been expecting you. Do come in.”

“Thank you for having me, Mr. Drew. I can’t imagine how I’d be able to afford a consultation otherwise.”

“It’s not a problem for me, don’t worry about it,” Mr. Drew said. “Come into my office.” Mr. Matthews tipped his hat to Nancy as he and her father entered the office and the door was shut again.

“Now, for an appraisal of your farm…”

“It breaks my heart to think of it. It’s been in the family for generations. But after ole Crowley passed…I have to think practically.”

“You might not have to sell your farm,” Mr. Drew said. “Don’t lose hope. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Mr. Rolsted, the lawyer in town who specializes in wills, if you want to challenge Crowley’s will, though I doubt the Tophams will budge on it.”

“The Tophams…”Nancy said to herself. She’d just seen Mrs. Topham earlier, she knew, and Ada and Isabel went to school with her. It would be a grand farce to say that they were anything like friends, though. They were quite mean-spirited girls, and they prided themselves on their high-status. They were white, which landed them at Nancy’s school, Carl Sandberg Academy, which was the unofficial “white” school in River Heights though it housed many extra classes for Gallifreyan kids in lieu of having the actual Academy or the Untempered Schism there to put the fear of the Universe into them. There were some fundamental reasons the Gallifreyans disagreed with how the planet’s government was run and subsequently became refugees, after all.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to even begin to afford that for a while,” Mr. Matthews said. “Again, I thank you for doing this.”

“Of course.”

*********************

“Are you sure we should be listening to legal dealings under a window? This is really shady.”

Harriet glared at Junior for speaking. “We’re not part of the story. We can take whatever we want in order to tell it.”

“Are those the rules now?”

“Doesn’t matter. Don’t you see? We have our story now. We have to write a new will for this Crowley fellow!”

“What, just snap our fingers and it appears now?”

“No…I’m going to write it. Literally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bushwa means bullshit. "Jake" apparently used to mean "good", so I was trying to make it mean "oh, isn't that just swell"? 1920s slang is kind of fun so i'm playing with that.


	5. The Secret of the Old Clock (part 1)

Gallifreyan history class was not typically a favorite among the Gallifreyan kids, but it was the next time Nancy could see both Bess and George.

She’d been wracking her brain trying to solve what she called “The Case of the Missing Invitation” in order to get her mind of the nasty Tophams. Her two best friends – and cousins – hadn’t been speaking to each other ever since George accused Bess of inviting “everyone but her” to Bess’s birthday party. Now they were refusing to talk to each other, look at each other, or sit together, and both were somewhat peeved that Nancy would not pick both their sides. It really was a rough situation for any eight-year-old to be in, regardless of species.

She’d made a breakthrough in the case the previous night, though!

“Bess, I was looking at the envelopes you gave me…”

“Hmm,” was all Bess said, but she turned her head slightly towards Nancy.

“It’s written with a different ink.”

“Maybe I ran out of the other ink, I don’t remember,” Bess muttered defensively.

“I don’t think you did. Because this is written in a different handwriting too. Not yours. Did your mom or dad help you write these?”

“What? No. I wanted to do it all myself and I did. People are always saying I’m not as good at covering for myself as you guys. I wanted to prove myself. See, I even wrote my name in Circular Gallifreyan.”

Nancy smiled sympathetically. It was true, stealth and a bit of deception was drilled into them at a young age. They couldn’t have people making a fuss about them.

“Then I think these were forged.”

“Forged? Don’t you need to actually copy my handwriting to do that?”

“Not if the reader is less observant. I just know you don’t write your A’s like that. And your g’s and y’s are loopier.”

Bess peered down at the handwriting. “Hey, you’re right. But then who wrote it?”

Nancy glanced over at Orson Wong, who was sitting in the corner playing with holographic playing cards with his friends. “I think I know.”

“Orson? But why? I mean, he’s annoying, sure, but…”

“Everyone, quiet down! We’ve got a limited amount of time to get through this!” their teacher, Ms. Bartell, called out. “I need someone to pass back these tests from last week…who can help me?”

“I will!” Nancy said. She rushed forward to grab the papers. Ms. Bartell chuckled in amusement as Nancy began to pass the tests out. The girl was careful not to show the offending envelope that she hid her pocket as she subtly checked out everyone’s handwriting.

“Petra…Amara…George…Orson.” Nancy pressed both his test and his envelope down on the table. “Gotcha,” she whispered. Orson gaped at her, but they both knew – and George sitting in front of him knew – that he’d taken the invitation.

“Does there seem to be something the matter?” Ms. Bartell asked.

“Only a bit of a switch. I think I’ve solved the invitation mystery.”

******************

That day, Nancy walked home feeling pretty proud of herself. Her best friends were friends again, and while she could understand Orson’s jealousy, she hoped he wouldn’t try something like this again. She decided to take a shortcut home, one that let her walk along the Muskogee river that was a prominent and beautiful feature of the town. There was a small brick border to the bridge to over it, and if she followed the river far enough afterward, she could turn straight down her street.

Moments into her riverside stroll, though, **she gasped in horror.**

**From the lawn of a house just ahead of her a little girl about five years of age had darted into the roadway. A automobile, turning out of the driveway of the house, was barely fifty feet away from her. As the driver vigorously sounded the horn in warning, the child became confused and ran directly in front of the vehicle.**

**By some miracle, the child managed to cross the road safely, and she started pulling herself up onto the low wall that formed the beginning of one side of the bridge. But the next second, as the automobile sped away, the child lost her balance and toppled off the wall out of sight!**

**“Oh my goodness!” Nancy cried out** , horrible visions of tragedy flashing through her head. She hesitated only a moment before leaping over the bridge’s edge herself. Her strength at swimming may have been comparable to your average human 8-year-old, but she could hold her breath far longer than that, so she pressed forward. **At the foot of the embankment, she could see the curly-haired little girl lying motionless with the right side of her body in the water.**

 **“I hope…” Nancy dared not complete the harrowing thought** as she climbed the embankment.

 **To her relief, the little girl was breathing normally** and no water had entered her system. She also seemed to not have suffered any broken bones. Struggling to pick her up, Nancy climbed the embankment.

 **At that moment, the front door** of the little girl’s house **flew open and an elderly woman rushed out, crying, “Judy! Judy!”**

**“I’m sure she’ll be alright,” Nancy said quickly.**

“Oh, my goodness!” the elderly woman said. She took Judy into her arms. “Thank you, young lady…”

“Nancy. My name’s Nancy, and I’m happy to help.”

“Well thank you Nancy.” Judy stirred in her guardian’s arms at that moment.

**“Who are you?” she asked.**

**“My name is Nancy, and I’m glad to know you, Judy.”**

“ **Did you see me fall?”**

Nancy nodded as the woman said, **“She rescued you from the river after you fell in.”**

 **Judy began to cry. “I’ll never, never run into the road again, really I won’t** , Aunt Mary!”

“I have no doubt about that,” Aunt Mary said as Nancy patted Judy’s arm and smiled. “Now let’s get you inside and into some drier clothes. Nancy, if you would do us the honor, we were just about to make some tea.”

She quickly scanned both the woman and the little girl for danger – both to themselves and others. She saw that there was no danger and smiled casually. “I’d love to,” Nancy said.

They walked in and another woman rushed in, looking between the wet children and the woman who Nancy realized was her sister.

“What on earth did you lead Judy into?”

“Our little Judy ran into some trouble playing outside and Miss Nancy here pulled her out of the river,” Aunt Mary said. “No harm done, Edna. Well, besides the soaking part.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got something for you while your clothes dry…” Edna said. Nancy opened her mouth to wave her off but Mary signaled for her to accept the hospitality. Edna came back out moments later with bath robes and directed them to the bathrooms, telling them, “tea will be ready when you’re done!”

A few moments later, Nancy sat next to her new giggly five-year-old friend as tea was poured for them.

“I need to take care of that bump on your head, Judy. Nancy, could you please come into the kitchen and help me?”

“Of course.”

Nancy and Edna walked into the kitchen and Edna began setting up a cold compress and medicine for Judy.

“I’m sorry for my outburst, Nancy,” Edna said. “Judy’s very important to us. We cared for her mother when she was orphaned and after she and Judy’s father died in a boating accident…we’re all she has left.”

“You care about her,” Nancy said. “That’s nothing to apologize for.”

“My, aren’t you bright for your age. You’re being raised well.”

“My father’s a lawyer. I live with him and our housekeeper, Hannah.”

“No mother?”  
“My mother… died a while ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. What of?”

“Consumption.” That was the easiest answer. Edna gave her a simple look of pity before picking up the compress and medicine and shepherding her into the living room again.

“It is a shame we can’t provide more for you,” Edna said. “We were expecting money to come in from a rich relative – our cousin, Josiah Crowley, who would come around often enough for teatime – but when the Tophams got everything…well, it doesn’t do to live on dreams, I guess.”

“That’s a shame,” Nancy said. “You and Judy deserve something for all the kindness you have.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, dear, but it’s alright.”

“Please, if you ever come by, my father is Carson Drew – perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

“Why, yes,” Aunt Mary said. “I know of him. He’s done good work for some of our neighbors.”

“Well, you’ve been very kind to me. If you want to come for tea sometime and talk to my father…”

“We appreciate the offer, dear, but seriously: you’ve done us a huge favor just helping Judy,” said Edna. “Oh, I think I forgot my glasses in my bedroom. I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, she cried out.

“Mary! Our jewelry is missing! And my mother’s jewelry box!”

“How!?”

“Come look!”

“Girls, stay here,” Aunt Mary ordered as she ran into the bedroom. Judy clung to Nancy worriedly, causing Nancy to refocus her attention on her young friend.

“Grandmother’s dresser is missing too! Oh, how could this have happened!?”

Sipping her tea, Nancy was determined to get to the bottom of this new mystery – one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything in bold is a direct quote from the first chapter of "The Secret of the Old Clock," by Carolyn Keene - otherwise known as Harriet Stratemeyer and Mildred Augustine Wirt.


	6. Secret of the Old Clock (part 2)

“It’s a shame that the Turners were hit,” Nancy’s father said. “It was kind of them to invite you in and care for you. I’m grateful to them for that.”

“I wish I could help Judy more. Her aunts said that they were supposed to get money from a rich relative – someone named Crowley?” Nancy tried to say this as casually as possible.

Carson Drew wasn’t having it, though.

“Nancy, whatever you heard…you realize you can’t talk about it, right?”

“Papa, come on! I want to help you!”

“Nancy, it’s lawyer-client confidentiality. I can’t disclose details and you shouldn’t be listening in, you know that!”

“I may not be able to read your mind, but I can read their minds, Papa! I know they are suffering because of that will and everything seems to point back to this dead man Josiah Crowley! I dare you to tell me you don’t see it too!”

“I don’t see it.”

“Papa!”

“Nancy, I can’t talk about it. I know you care but I don’t want you running into danger. Not after what happened with your mother.”

Both Nancy and her father became quiet after that.

Kate Austin Drew had been just as eager to help people as her husband and daughter. She’d spent the majority of the 19th century as an intrepid journalist, exploring the world and writing under pen names so as not to cause suspicion towards the fact that “a woman was in the right place at the right time to experience these things.” She and her husband had gone on many adventures together before settling down in River Heights in 1909 (or so) and deciding to have a baby: Nancy.

And then Kate Drew had wanted to go on one last mission.

She’d hiked down to Mexico to participate in the Mexican Revolution that started in 1910. She sympathized with the oppressed Mexicans and wanted to help free them from the tyrannical rule of wealthy men.

She’d used up her last regeneration in that war. Adults who’d actually been through the Academy on Gallifrey had a limited amount of regenerations assigned to them, and instead of cheating the system – as she had every right to do as a refugee - she’d given her life for the people she fought for – for people who were still fighting that oppression in 1917.

And now Nancy was without a mother. And she could definitely understand her father’s fears.

Before they could continue the conversation, though, the sound of an automobile careening down the street and ramming into a lamppost so hard it came (audibly) crashing down. Nancy ran to the window to look.

“That’s the car that nearly ran over Judy today!”

“And it’s not driving any better,” her father mused. “I’m calling the police. Nancy, get away from the window, they’ll see you.”

“But Papa!”

“Nancy, please!” Carson Drew put the candlestick style phone down for a moment and gave her a pleading look. “Look, I’ll keep an eye on the Crowley situation, I promise, and we’ll see what we can do for the Turners. But right now, as far as we know, that car’s driver just wants to harm little girls, and no good can come from that.”

Nancy sighed. “Okay.”

“Besides, don’t you and Hannah have to go out tomorrow and buy a dress for Bess’s birthday party? That should be fun. Get your mind off this. It’s not that I don’t love how earnestly you want to help people, sweetheart. It’s that you shouldn’t have to. You are a child.”

***************************

“So this automobile just came out of nowhere and now the Turners’ stuff is missing? Sounds fishy.”

“I know, right?”

Nancy had dragged Hannah over to the side of the road to give Livie the lowdown on the day before and now the older girl was listening intently in bewilderment. They were on their way to the dress shop.

“I’ve been trying to get my papa to help, but he…”

“Nancy…” Hannah interrupted in warning. “Remember what we’ve said about interfering with other people’s business.” Turning to Livie, she added. “I apologize, but I must admit I didn’t catch how you know Nancy.”

“Oh, we take some of the same route home from school together,” Livie said quickly. “She’s at the elementary school and I’m at the high school. Usually coming home from doing experiments in the science labs.”

“Ah! That makes sense.”

“And you must be Hannah. Nancy’s told me about you. Only good things, I swear.”

“The one and only,” Hannah smiled and gave Nancy a side glance. “I’m glad you two met.”

Nancy wasn’t looking at Hannah or Livie anymore, though. She was looking down the street.

“Hannah, Livie, look out!”

The group looked up as the tell-tale automobile came careening up towards the sidewalk. Hannah dragged both girls into the nearest dress shop as the vehicle grazed the storefront.

“That thing is like a bat out of hell!” Hannah exclaimed.

“Did you catch a look at the driver?” Nancy asked eagerly.

“Ahem.”

All three looked up to find a pissed-off looking shopkeeper glaring at Livie.

“This is a whites-only establishment.”

“Oh, I was only…”

“Out. Now. Before I get the police.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Hannah muttered. She pulled what looked like an ordinary slip of paper out of her bag and held it up for the shopkeeper to see. “She’s with us, Mrs. Taylor.”

The shopkeeper looked bewildered as she read whatever was on the paper. “Of course, ma’am. Deepest apologies for my assumption.” She gave a sloppy curtsey to Livie before rushing away.

Hannah nodded curtly and pulled the girls along with her until they were in a secluded corner.

“What was that about?” Livie hissed.

“They were harassing you so I fixed it. ‘tis all,” Hannah said.

“Were…were you planning to help me this whole time? What was on that piece of paper?”

Hannah sighed. “It says you’re an heir to the Ethiopian throne and you’re under Mr. Drew’s protection. Now no reactions or they’ll get suspicious, you hear me?”

Livie’s eyes widened but she nodded silently.

“Now,” Hannah said. “Let’s look for that party dress.”

Nancy started wandering around the aisles with Livie nervously shadowing her from behind by a few feet, anxiously trying not to touch things lest they get yelled at again. She couldn’t help standing a little taller, though. The younger girl focused on a blue frock with lace trim, carefully taking it off the rack and holding it up to herself before comparing it to a yellow dress with ruffles down the front.

 **“Send a saleswoman to us immediately!” a shrill voice** from somewhere in the store complained. Livie thought it sounded like a grown woman. Nancy looked over to see who it was and sighed.

 **“I’m afraid I can’t,”** a man replied regretfully. “ **There are a number of others ahead of you. All our salespeople are—”**

**“Perhaps you don’t know who were are!”**

**“Indeed I do,”** the man told her wearily. **“I will have a saleswoman here in a few moments. If you will only wait—”**

 **“We’re not accustomed to waiting,”** a much younger voice – a little girl’s – said icily.

 **“Such service!”** a different child chimed in. **“Do you realize that my father owns considerable stock in Taylor’s? If we report your conduct to him, he could have you discharged.”**

**“I’m sorry,” the harassed man apologized. “But it is a rule of the store. You must wait your turn.”**

A set of heels speed-walking on tile echoed in the store as a salewoman’s voice hurriedly apologized for making the rude people wait. **At once they began to shower abuse upon the young woman for her failure to wait on them sooner.**

“What is it you wish to look at, Miss Topham?” the clerk said.

“Evening dresses.”

Livie peeked around a clothing rack and Nancy’s body to watch the Tophams curiously as they, **in an unpleasant frame of mind, tossed aside beautiful models with scarcely a second glance. They found fault with every garment.**

**“This is a very chic gown,” the saleswoman told them hopefully, as she displayed a particularly attractive dress in lace and chiffon. “It arrived only this morning.”**

Ada and her mother picked it up, **gave the dress one careless glance, then tossed it into a chair, as the distracted clerk went off to bring other frocks.** At that point, Livie and Nancy turned their attention back to their own dress-finding mission for a few glorious moments of peace.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Livie and Hannah looked over to see thin, sallow-faced girl Ada glaring petulantly at Nancy. The girl snatched the dress out of Nancy’s hands.

“What made you think blue was _your_ color?” the girl sneered.

“Give it back, Ada,” Nancy sighed.

“Give it to me, I want it!” her somewhat prettier dark-haired sister snatched the dress from Ada’s hands. To Nancy’s horror the dress dropped to the floor and **Ada stepped on it as she turned to examine another dress**. **In disgust, Nancy went to pick it up.**

“I said, it’s mine!” **Ada cried out, her eyes blazing**. “Nobody asked for your help!”

 **“Are you buying this?”** Livie said evenly.

“It’s none of your business--!” and the sister called Livie a nasty racist name.

As Nancy continued to hold the blue dress, Ada in a rage snatched it from her hands, causing a loud tear in the chiffon skirt right as Mrs. Topham came running over to mind her daughters.

“What are you doing harassing my girls?” she demanded. “And what are _you_ doing in this store?” she pointed the accusation at Livie, who figured now was not a good time to claim royal status despite Hannah’s firm hand on her shoulder. “Causing nothing but trouble, I expect.”

“Well isn’t that a shame,” Ada sneered. “Nancy Drool does it again. Ruining everything.”

“No one will believe you,” Nancy said shakily.

“Oh, my!” Mrs. Topham cried out, seeing the dress damage at last.

 **“Now you’ve done it!”** the sister declared. “ **We’d better get out of here, Ada!”**

**“And why?” the haughty sister shrilled. “It was Nancy Drew’s fault! She’s always causing trouble.”**

“It was not her fault,” Hannah thundered. “I will not stand for you accusing her of your wrongdoing!”

“And who’s going to listen to a maid and a half-breed? Come on, Ada, Isabel,” Mrs. Topham said snootily, glaring at Hannah and Livie. “ **Before that clerk gets back**.” They marched out the front door in a huff. **At that moment the saleswoman came back with an armful of lovely frocks. She stared in bewilderment at the torn dress.**

**“Where did my customers go?” she asked Nancy worriedly.**

**Nancy** , Livie, and Hannah **pointed towards** the front doors of the shop, **but made no comment**. Instead Hannah said, “We’re looking for a party dress for Miss Nancy here. **This torn one is very pretty** and just her size. **Do you think it could be mended?** ”

**“Oh, I don’t know,” the woebegone clerk wailed. “I’ll probably be held responsible and I can’t afford to pay for the dress.”**

“I’m sure Mrs. Taylor **wouldn’t ask you to do that** ,” Hannah said kindly. **“If there’s any trouble, I’ll speak to the manager myself. What usually happens is that a dress is greatly reduced.”**

**“Thank you,” the clerk replied. “I’ll call Miss Reed, the fitter, and see what can be done.”**

After Nancy had tried on the dress and seen the fitter, the trio walked out of the shop, with Livie splitting off from the group with a modest, “you’ve been too kind already, see you tomorrow, Nance.” Hannah leaned over to Nancy as Livie left. “That Ada Topham did you a favor, but I don’t want you picking any unnecessary battles with her. It’ll only cause trouble.”

“If she ever finds out, she’ll certainly be burned up!” Nancy suppressed a giggle. “But that car is more of a worry. I’ve now seen it three times! Maybe it’s connected to the Crowley case!”

“Nancy, there’s no case.”

“That’s just because we haven’t found it yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> passages in bold print in this chapter hail from Chapter 3 of The Secret of the Old Clock. I apologize for the page count but there's so much to write!  
> Also, as a side note, the snooty Tophams actually sound much worse as bratty children enabled by their mother than as 18-year-olds. And as a second side note...full disclosure, I'm a white writer and therefore get squeamish even at historical documents containing the n-word, so there will be none of that here.


	7. The Secret of the Old Clock (part 3)

River Heights High School was, as said before, one of Livie’s safe spaces.

Was she one of the few students who’d fought to take both home economics and shop? Sure. Was she the only child in her grade, let alone the only girl, taking a high school chemistry class? Absolutely. But River Heights High School was unique in one way: it was technically, unofficially, non-segregated, and rather sparsely populated given that many students dropped out after 8th grade to help on their families’ farms. Parents who didn’t want their children “fraternizing with Negroes” would usually send their children to Mapleton high about a half hour away, but that was no matter as long as Livie could learn in peace.

Besides that, she got to be with her best friend during labs.

“Everyone, to your lab stations! We’ll be studying bases and acids today. Remember your safety glasses and lab coats!”

“Yes, Sir.” A slick-haired boy with nerdy glasses slid in next to Livie in the nick of time. She grinned in response as the teacher demonstrated the experiment before letting the students start.

“Getting caught up in reading Freud’s theories again instead of eating lunch?” Livie teased.

“no…yes…”

“Sigh…I don’t understand what’s got you so hot under the collar about a bunch of dream interpretations. A bribed monkey could make an interpretation of your dreams, Doc.”

“Freud’s observations prove it can be more scientific than that! He’s worked with actual patients…”

“Or it could just be the dream fairies sprinkling nightmares into your head.”

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you bet I am, Doc.”

“Morgan! Jekyll! Focus on your work and less on each other!”

“Yes, Sir!” they both said, before grinning at each other and then measuring the proper ingredients into their beakers. Henry “Doc” Jekyll poured the acid into the water and they watched it fizzle out. Their teacher, standing at the front of the room, made an exclamation of shock as he knocked his ink well over and the bluish-black liquid spread over the desk.”

“Drat it!” he yelled. “Morgan, come clean this up.”

“But sir, my partner and I aren’t done…”

“Unless you’d like me to split you two up for future assignments and make you work for two hours after school, get down here and clean this up.”

“…yes, sir.” A smattering of boys laughed at her as she grabbed the mop.

See, that was the one of the caveats to Livie getting to be in the high school chemistry class. She doubled as a part-time janitor. So long as she cleaned up other people’s messes, she’d get to sit in on any class she wanted to. About half the school’s faculty took advantage of her in this way.

Peering at the mess, she wrinkled her nose at the stinky ink. The class let out soon afterward, just as she was finishing up. She knew she’d get marked down for not finishing her work.

“Don’t worry about old Mr. Snootypants,” Doc said as he hung up his lab coat. “He just doesn’t appreciate you.”

“I appreciate your vote of confidence, Doc, but that’s not going to help my grades.”

“Aww, well, it was worth a shot.” Livie walked over to retrieve her books and join Doc in walking to their next class together. She peered down at his trousers, were stained with a black streak.

“That’s not from this ink, is it?”

“Nah, crazy driver soaked me on my way to school.”

“I nearly got run over by a driver yesterday as well! How odd.”

“Were you okay? That man could have seriously hurt you.”

“No worries, Doc. Not even a scratch. Though It is terribly curious…”

*******************************

“I did not sign up for this. I repeat, I did not sign up for this!”

“Junior, I heard you the first time!”

“Why were these death traps even invented? They are clearly unsound in structure…”

“The same reason you currently own a Coupe, Junior. Now pipe down, someone will hear you!”

“Come through a magical portal, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. _Nowhere_ in there did you say I’d be careening around nearly running over people and stealing people’s antique furniture!”

“I told you, I’m working off one of my dad’s outline drafts!”

“Oh, your dad, your dad…I’m remembering why we broke up. You’re obsessed.”

“We just have to fulfill the bare basics of the plot! And this is easier than bribing some shady character to steal everything, isn’t it?”

“We. Could have. DIED.”

“ _Sigh…_ ” Harriet leaned against the car as Junior ducked back under the hood, coughing a bit as he had to come in contact with the fumes of the fuel.

“I wouldn’t lean on the car if I were you. I think something’s wrong with the oil – it keeps getting on me. And anything I run into.” Harriet gingerly stepped away from the vehicle, examining her backside and brushing herself off as she did. Junior stood up and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ll never be able to explain this to my professors – or a dry-cleaner,” he moaned. “This is like—”

“Ink?” The two whipped their heads around to see a short black girl in a school uniform glaring at them. “I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘ink.’”

“The hell did you come from?” Junior squeaked. Harriet glared at him before looking warily back at the girl.

“You’re the Drew girl’s friend, aren’t you?” she said gently. “I’ve…I’ve seen you around.”

“How do you know her last name, and why are you stalking her?” The girl was having none of it.

“We…we aren’t stalking her. We’re just…”

“We’re journalists! Looking for a story. Now please, go away,” Junior tried.

“Right. I call bullshit,” the girl said. “For one thing, every journalist I’ve ever read about didn’t go out of their way to try to run over small children. For another, you’re dressed like a prostitute, ma’am, and you talk funny.”

“I’m sorry!” Junior protested. “I’m not used to the vehicle!” Harriet just looked insulted at the “prostitute” comment.

“Then don’t drive one.”

“The outline called for a moving van and a burglary ring, in his defense, but vans don’t exist yet,” Harriet piped in.

“A moving what now?”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?! You still haven’t told me why you’re following Nancy.”

“We…we’re writing a story about her,” Harriet admitted.

“Did I not just tell you I don’t believe you on that? Look, I don’t really care what you’re doing. Just stop following my friend around. She’s eight. Eight, you hear? She’s too young to do what you’re putting her through.”

“I think you’d find any child will rise to the occasion of the hand life deals them to the best of their ability. You certainly did,” Harriet said quietly.

“But they shouldn’t have to,” the girl said, before walking away.

***********************

Livie was startled by a knock at the front. She was in the middle of making herself a bowl of rice and beans for dinner – something that would probably last her the next three days, if she needed it to.

Creeping to the front of her far-too-big-for-one-person house, she peeped through the crack but saw no one. “Who is it?” she called.

“Someone looking for the heir to the Ethiopian throne.”

Livie’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t recognize the voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

“Livie…” the voice sighed. “Please let me in?”

“Who are you?”

“Carson…Carson Drew. Nancy’s father. I…I can prove it. Hold on.” A slip of paper passed under the door. Livie picked it up cautiously, examining the words that appeared on it.

“A peculiar invention…” she muttered.

“Will you let me in?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, sir.” Still shaking and discreetly searching for a weapon in case this was all a trick, she opened the door. Sure enough, Mr. Drew stood there. Livie let him in.

“Anyone else home?”

“No…not now. I think I have some tea bags and a kettle I can use? I don’t have coffee, sorry, sir…”

“Livie, it’s alright. You don’t have to. And please, don’t call me sir.”

“It…it feels weird, you calling me that,” the girl admitted. “Nancy’s a child but you’re an adult. I feel like I should call you sir. I…was just making some dinner for myself. I apologize if I’m being rude…”

“Livie!”

Livie looked up, startled.

“The last thing you are is rude. You were kind to a little girl who needs friends. I’m grateful to you.”

“…Thank you. I mean, you’re welcome?”

“And like any parent would, I looked you up.”

“Looked me up?”

“I mean, looked at your school records. Asked your church about you. Looked into your parents.”

“…Oh.” Tears came to Livie’s eyes as Mr. Drew spoke. He reached out a hand to touch her arm but she jerked herself away.

“Please don’t get me sent away,” she whispered. “I…I’ve read what they do to orphans with no family. Especially girls like me. I actually have some happiness here. Please don’t make me get sent away, Mr. Drew, please!”

Mr. Drew closed his eyes, extremely aware of the feelings of the child in front of him. “I’m not sending you away, Livie. I want to help you.”

“How?” the girl sniffed.

“I want you to help me protect Nancy.”

Livie chuckled a bit at that. “She’s a very capable child. How can I help?”

Mr. Drew grinned. “She is very capable. But she’s also facing a danger greater than I can protect her from.”

“How so?”

“You’re a scientist,” he said thoughtfully. “I think you can handle having your mind blown.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Only if it’s not literal.”

He laughed again, before pulling something that looked like a compact for make-up. When he opened it up, it held the image of a glowing quill pen floating in the air.

“Do you know what this is?”

“The pen or the handheld image making thing you’ve got there?”

“ _Sigh_ …the pen.”

“No…” Mr. Drew could see the gears turning in her head though, so he was okay with her answer.

“This is an Avalonian Pen. It can write into being whatever the writer wishes so long as they’re bound to it.”

“Bound to it? Like witchcraft?”

“A bit. There’s either naming or blood involved.”

“Not disturbing at all, got it. The people following Nancy around…they said they were writing about her. You think they have one of those?”

“I know they do. I picked up the…I mean, I have evidence.”

“Okaaaay. What do we do? Try to get the pen?”

“No good. We can’t control it. But I need you to guard Nancy against whatever they throw at her.”

“Of course, but I only have so much time with her. I work after school… sometimes I don’t even see Nancy.”

“I’ll talk to your school. And, with your permission, I’d like you to move in with us.”

Livie’s jaw dropped. “Me? But I can’t pay you rent.”

“Don’t worry about that. Would you like to come over for tea tomorrow? We can talk more, in the presence of Hannah and Nancy.”

“Yes, sir…I mean Mr. Drew. I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, if I didn't know that Carson Drew was an altruistic guy who doesn't harm children, this chapter would be way too creepy to write. As it is, I don't think I would want to live as an orphan in 1917. In case you're wondering, the orphan train (which is referenced in both a Boxcar Children book and the Samantha books from American Girl, if you know those) was a real thing back in the day. It was more for the overpopulation of New York's orphans, but I'm ad-libbing a bit here. I encourage feedback, honestly.


	8. The Secret of the Old Clock (part 4)

“Is that everything you own?”

Livie glanced up from where she sat in the Drews’ guest bedroom to see Nancy standing in the doorway. The older girl had her schoolbag on the bed, visibly stuffed with clothing and books.

“I’m only here for as long as you need me,” Livie replied. “Or well, a few nights. I have enough.”

“You sound like Nurse Matilda,” Nancy giggled.

“Nurse Matilda? That someone you know?”

“Err, no. It’s a book character. You’ll read it…someday, I’m sure.” Nancy got quieter as if she were calculating the length of the universe’s existence inside her brain. Livie chuckled.

“Don’t worry so much, Nance. You’ve got a long life to live.”

Nancy looked at her keenly. Livie was forced to look away due to discomfort.

“I heard my dad say you don’t have parents,” the younger girl said carefully. “How did you lose them?”

Livie sighed. “It was a long time ago. I don’t like to think about it too much.”

“Do you miss them?”

_Miss them?_ The question felt strange to the older girl. “Do you miss your mom?” she countered.

Nancy frowned. “Yes. But I asked you.”

“Then you know how it sits in the heart.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So? I believe your main case right now is Mr. Crowley, not me, Miss Detective. Let’s focus on that, shall we? Does Hannah need help downstairs, do you know?”

“No, but the tea should be ready. Come on!” Nancy grabbed Livie’s hand and dragged her down the stairs.

“Carson, what have I said about having your files where we eat? At least _pretend_ to care…” Hannah was saying as they walked in. The girls saw he had some files on the table next to his tea cup and saucer.

“Mr. Rolsted’s been kind enough to offer some input on, well, your case, Nancy,” Mr. Drew said. “Having his files on hand are essential.”

“Like you didn’t just memorize them,” Hannah scoffed.

“Memorize them?” Livie asked in disbelief.

“Nevermind,” Mr. Drew said, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s confirmed that there is, in fact, another will. But, there might be technicalities.”

“Technicalities?” Nancy asked. She sat up a little straighter in her seat and Livie got the distinct feeling she was now sitting next to a little old lady.

“He says this much,” Mr. Drew said. **“About a year ago Josiah Crowley came to him and said he wanted to draw up a new will. He indicated that he intended to spread out his bequests among several people. He expressed a desire to write the will himself, and asked Mr. Rolsted a number of questions. Mr. Rolsted took him to his office and told him exactly how to proceed. When Crowley left, he promised to have Mr. Rolsted look over the document after he had drawn it up.”**

**“Then he actually saw the will?”** Livie asked in surprise, eyebrows raised.

**“No. Strange to say, Crowley never came back. We don’t know whether he ever wrote the will or not.”**

**“And if he did, there would be a chance that it would not be legal?”** Nancy spoke up.

**“Yes. He might have typed it and signed the paper without a witness. In this state at least two witnesses are required and three are advisable.”**

**“What would happen,” Nancy asked, “If a person were ill or dying and had no witness, and wanted to make a will?”**

Mr. Drew smiled. **“That sometimes happens. If the person writes the will himself by hand and signs it, so there’s no doubt the same person did both, the surrogate’s office will accept it for probate.”**

**“Then if Mr. Crowley wrote out and signed a new will, it would be legal,” Nancy commented.**

**“That’s right. But there’s another thing to remember. It’s pretty risky for someone who is not a lawyer to draw up a will that cannot be broken.”**

Nancy nodded. **“If Josiah Crowley left any loophole in a will he wrote personally, the Tophams would drag the matter into court.”**

**“Yes. It’s a foregone conclusion that the Tophams will fight to keep their fortune whether they have a right to it or not. I believe some other relatives have filed a claim, but up to the moment they have no proof that a later will exists.”**

Nancy’s face remained neutral, but Livie could see her legs wiggling under the table. If anything was a foregone conclusion, it was that Nancy had faith that a second will existed.

“Now, I’m going to show you these files, but first, Livie, I need you to do something. Think long and hard about this. I need to swear on something important to you that you will never reveal this information to anyone.”

Livie nodded seriously before cocking her head to the side for a few moments in thought. Finally, she said, “I swear on the bond between hydrogen and oxygen atoms that keeps me alive.”

Mr. Drew nodded, slightly amused. “Very good. I have to go make a phone call. You three drink your tea and look at that.” He left the room. Hannah stood up, picking up the teapot as she did.

“Well, we’ve run out anyway. I’ll be right back. Have a scone.”

As the adults left, Nancy turned to Livie in great excitement. **“It’s just as I suspected. I’m sure Mr. Crowley did make a later will! He hid it someplace! If only I could find out where!”**

**“It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack,”** Livie commented.

**“I must figure out a way!” Nancy said with determination. “I want to help little Judy.”**

“That little girl you saved from the river?”

“Of course.”

Livie nodded in understanding. “Of course. Well, let’s see these people we have to save.” The two girls opened up the files together. Nancy scanned for a few moments before sitting back.

“We can split this list in two.”

“How can you tell that already?” Livie asked in disbelief.

**“The two girls on River Road** who I think the Turners mentioned – the ones who expected to be remembered in the will – are named Hoover. One of them is a teenager who attends your school.”

“Hoover…you’re right. That’s Allison,” Livie said. “I sometimes hear her practicing the flute or doing voice lessons after school. She’s two years above me but generally sweet to everyone. I’ll see if I can track her down.”

“Great. See? You’re already one of us.”

“What is ‘one of us’?”

“An investigator. Now, The Matthewses – William and Fred – they’re grown-ups. Farmers. But William might still go to your school – he’s 18, it says here. And Mrs. Abby Rowan – I don’t know where to find her, but her address is right here and it’s not far. I can handle that.”

“Well, that’s not an even split,” Livie teased.

“Hey! I already got the Turners. That’s not my fault.”

“I know, silly. You’re fine.”

“I think I know where the Williams farm is, but I can’t go there alone, anyway,” Nancy said. “I mean, I can, but people will get suspicious of me.”

“Suspicious? Is that the only reason why you can’t go?” Livie mused.

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

Hannah came back in with the tea at that moment, which either cut Nancy short or punctuated her statement, leaving Livie simultaneously intrigued and confused.

********************

“The outline says we need three thieves.”

“We’re really still being that specific? We created the second will. Old man Crowley rolled over a little, we made the little detective happy, and you scared her Negro friend…I wonder if it should be “Negra,” technically?”

“Junior, not helping.”

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but that outline was meant to be for an older protagonist. Neither girl can drive a car – certainly not any better than I can – and I’m not willing to get them kidnapped. Call it a weakness.”

“Junior!”

“What?”

“Just…calm down. We came to make story that sticks in your head, right? Numbers are important. Just ask the Christian Churches – one, three, seven, twelve…”

“Okay, fine. Then what do you suggest we do next?”

“I might be able to help with that.”

Junior and Harriet looked up to see a man who frankly looked homeless. He had a scraggly beard and battered clothes, and his hat didn’t do much to cover up the fact that he had fake blonde hair on his head next to fading brown hair.

“Hello?” Harriet said hesistantly.

“Pardon appearances, ma’am. I’ll fix that in a moment.” The man reached into his pocket and took something small and shiny. Fidgeting with his fingers, a light emitted from the object and revealed a French Revolutionary outfit and a decidedly 18th century men’s haircut.

“We’ve finally gone off the deep end,” Junior muttered in awe.

“Time travelers and you still can’t distinguish a hallucination from advanced technology? Honestly don’t know why I’m humoring you two,” the man said, shaking his head and putting the light away. “Name’s Louis Varlois.”

“Varlois? Isn’t that the name of a French king?” Harriet questioned, though Junior elbowed her halfway through.

The men laughed darkly, sending chills down Harriet’s spine. “Smart girl. They say I share a likeness, anyway. You say you need a thief or three?”

“Maybe we do.”

“I’ve got connections all over. No one will be able to catch me – or you.”

“You mean you’re a wanted criminal,” Junior scowled.

“Skeptical, ay? You should tell your boyfriend to talk less and listen more,” the man said. Harriet pulled Junior closer to her while schooling her face.

“What’s the catch?”

“Nothing you have to worry about. Leave it to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bold text in this chapter comes from Chapter 4 of The Secret of the Old Clock (the abridged version, for the record).


	9. The Secret of the Old Clock (part 5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one (2065 words according to Microsoft Word) but it is a new chapter! The bold bits are from Chapter 8 of The Secret of the Old Clock. The rest is me. All writing that is not mine squarely belongs to the real Harriet Stratemeyer, aka Carolyn Keene

“ _Cara mio ben, credimi almen, senza di te…languishe il core…_ ”

Livie unconsciously hummed along to Allison’s singing as she carefully poured a chemical solution into the water and recorded her observations. It gave her a peaceful feeling that calmed her anxiety regarding all the work she had to catch up on. She carefully poured the solution into a beaker of water as directed by the words on the chalkboard. Doc was off playing with his chums somewhere, so she was feeling rather lonely as well. She jotted down her observations in her composition notebook as she continued to hum.

“Shh!” hissed a passing faculty member clearly on their way out of the school, glaring at Livie. “Let her practice.” Livie pressed her lips together stubbornly and resigned herself to silence.

She heard Allison stop and heave deep breaths, muttering something in a different language she could barely make out. For a reason unknown to her, though, she understood the gist of it.

“Christ Jesus, why can I never get that high note? Father would cringe…” The older girl moaned. She sounded like this was bringing her true anguish.

“You sounded fine…” Livie muttered a little too loudly.

“ _Was? Wer ist da?_ ” _What? Who’s there?_

“Oh, kick me,” Livie groaned. She walked into the hallway and toward the doorway of Allison’s practice room.

“It’s just me!” she called. She looked into the room to find a still-surprised Allison gaping back at her.

Allison Hoover was a pretty girl, by most accounts. She had curly blonde hair that looked like it wanted to rebel against the braids she’d put them in and a small perky nose that many an actress would pay good money to get. She was short in stature, though, and if looks could scream hers would be saying “ _Help, I don’t do social encounters well_.” She wore a neat white blouse and a long pleated dark blue skirt, much like Livie’s but more ill-fitting, as if it were a hand-me-down.

Livie thought she looked rather mouse-ish in the end.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” the younger girl said. “I just…couldn’t help be notice your singing. It’s beautiful.”

“Oh…thank you.” Allison blushed. She had an slight accent Livie couldn’t quite place but she figured it went along with the German. “I’m…I’m really just an amateur.”

“If that’s amateur, angels should be asking you for auditions,” Livie blurted out without thinking. She covered her mouth immediately. “Sorry…I spoke too much.”

“No, no! It’s…it’s really alright. You’re kind,” the blonde girl laughed. “I…I just don’t talk to people much.”

“Noted.”

“You’re the girl who’s taking advanced sciences with the boys, right? I’ve seen you but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Olivia Morgan. Call me Livie.”

“Allison. Allison Hoover.” The girls shook hands.

“I used to take formal lessons with a music teacher…for a few months,” Allison said hesitantly. “But the money from my parents…it wasn’t enough to cover it.”

“Where are your parents…if I may ask?”

“…Gone. Was a few years ago. My sister, Grace…she was 20 by that time, so she is my guardian.”

“I’m sorry. I’m glad you got to stay with your sister.”

“Me too. We’ve become closer than ever, truly.” Allison’s expression told Livie that there was more to the tale, but she didn’t press the issue. Grief, she’d decided, was a complicated feeling that was hard to fully express in words. It occurred to her that she should check with Nancy on whether the will stipulated anything about Allison’s parents.

“Wouldn’t your old music teacher understand if you couldn’t pay as much? You’re a wonderful singer.”

“No…no, I can’t ask for that. Grace and I can get by. Both of us have had to make sacrifices, it’s only fair.”

“I suppose that makes sense…” A clattering outside cut Livie off.

“Who was that?” she asked.

“Probably just a janitor…” Allison trailed off.

“ _I’m_ a janitor, no one is supposed to be working this late.” Someone started swearing in a low, grumbling voice down the hall and both girls froze again.

“How hard could it be to find…” he muttered.

“It can’t be…” Allison whispered.

“Can’t be what?”

“I think recognize that voice…but I must be mistaken.”

Livie scrunched up her nose. She swore she could smell something like charred wood in the air…as much as it annoyed her, she shook it off for Allison’s sake.

“Can I walk you home? I just have to clean up my lab work,” Livie offered.

“It’s a ways away…but perhaps we could go halfway.”

Livie peeked into the hallway. The only being there was a stray cat who glared at her. She glared back.

******************************

**“This must be Abby Rowen’s house,” Nancy told herself. “It fits the description.”**

She **stood before the one-store frame building which was badly in need of paint and repair. The yard around it was overgrown with weeds, and the picket fence enclosing the cottage sagged dejectedly.** It was the morning after Livie had reported back from her encounter with Allison Hoover, and she was eager to get more intel on the case.

**“This place looks deserted,” Nancy mused. “But I’ll see if Mrs. Rowen is home.”**

**Nancy made her way up the scraggly path to the house and rapped on the front door. There was no response. After a moment, she knocked again.**

**This time a muffled voice called, “Who’s there? If you’re a peddler, I don’t want anything.”**

**“I’m not selling anything,” Nancy called out reassuringly. “Won’t you let me in, please?”**

**There was a long silence, then the quavering voice replied, “I can’t open the door. I’ve hurt myself and can’t walk.”**

**Nancy hesitated an instant before pushing open the door. As she stepped into the dreary living room, she saw a frail figure on the couch. Abby Rowen lay huddled under an old shawl, her withered face drawn with pain.**

**“I am Nancy Drew and I’ve come to help you, Mrs. Rowen.”**

**The old lady turned her head and regarded Nancy with a stare of wonder.**

**“You’ve come to help me?” she repeated unbelievingly. “I didn’t think anyone would ever bother with old Abby again.”**

**“Here, let me arrange the pillows for you.”**

**Gently, Nancy moved the old woman into a more comfortable position.**

**“Yesterday I fell down the cellar stairs,” Mrs. Rowen explained. “I hurt my hip and sprained my ankle.”**

**“Haven’t you had a doctor?” Nancy asked in astonishment.**

**“No.” Abby Rowen sighed. “Not a soul has been here and I couldn’t get in touch with anybody. I have no telephone.”**

**“Can you walk at all?” Nancy asked.**

**“A little.”**

**“Then your hip isn’t broken,” Nancy said in relief. “Let me see your ankle. Oh my, it is swollen! I’ll bandage it for you.”**

**“There’s a clean cloth in the closet in the kitchen,” Abby told her. “I haven’t any regular bandage.”**

**“You really should have a doctor,” Nancy remarked.**

“You’re very resourceful for someone so young,” Abby commented. “Do you want to be a nurse when you grow up?”

“I just like helping people,” Nancy said with a smile. “And surely we can get a neighbor to drive you to the doctor.”

“I can’t afford it. My pension hasn’t come in.” Abby protested.

“Then I’ll ask my father.”

**Abby Rowen shook her head stubbornly. “I’ll not take charity. I’d rather die first.”**

**“Well, if you insist upon not having a doctor, I’m going to the nearest drugstore and getting some bandaging and a few other things,” Nancy told her. “But before you go, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”**

**“There’s no tea in the house.”**

**“Then I’ll get a box. What else do you need?”**

**“I need ‘most everything, but I can’t afford anything right now. You might get me some tea and a loaf of bread. That’s enough. You’ll find the money in a jar in the cupboard. It’s not very much, but it’s all I have.”**

**“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Nancy promised.**

**She stopped in the kitchen long enough to examine the cupboards. With the exception of a little flour and sugar and a can of soup, there appeared to be nothing in the house to eat. Nancy found that the money jar contained less than five dollars.**

**“I’ll not take any of it,” she decided.**

**Quietly, the young sleuth slipped out the back door** and trekked through backyards to get to the nearest grocery and drugstore.

Coming back with the supplies she had bought and reaching the cottage, she carried them in **and adeptly set about making Abby Rowen more comfortable. She bathed the swollen ankle and bound it neatly with the antiseptic bandage.**

**“It feels better already,” Mrs. Rowen told her gratefully. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come.”**

**“Oh, someone would have dropped in,” said Nancy cheerfully. She went to the kitchen and in a short while prepared tea and a light lunch for the elderly woman.**

**As Abby Rowen ate the nourishing meal, Nancy was gratified to observe that almost immediately her patient became more cheerful and seemed to gain strength. She sat up on the couch and appeared eager to talk to Nancy.**

**“There aren’t many folks willing to come in and help an old lady. If Josiah Crowley had lived, things would have been different,” she declared. “I could have paid someone to look after me.”**

**“It’s strange that he didn’t provide for you in his will,” Nancy replied quietly.**

**She did not wish to excite the woman by telling her real mission. Yet Nancy hoped that she might lead her tactfully into a discussion of Josiah Crowley’s affairs without raising hopes which might never be realized.**

**“It’s my opinion that Josiah did provide for me,” Mrs. Rowen returned emphatically. “Many a time he said to me, ‘Abby, you’ll never need to worry. When I’m gone you’ll be well taken care of by my will.”**

**“And then everything was left to the Tophams,” Nancy encouraged her to proceed.**

**“That was according to the first will,” Abby Rowen stated.**

**“You mean there was another will?” Nancy inquired eagerly.**

**“Of course. Why, I saw that will with my own eyes!”**

**“You saw it!” Nancy gasped.**

**The old woman nodded gravely. “Mind, I didn’t see what was in the will. One day Josiah came to call and give me some money. Right off I noticed he had a bunch of papers in his hand. ‘Abby,’ he said, ‘I’ve made a new will. I didn’t bother with a lawyer. I wrote it myself.’”**

**“How long ago was that?” Nancy asked quickly.**

**“Let me see.” Abby Rowen frowned thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the exact date. It was this past spring. Anyway, Josiah hinted that he’d done well by me. ‘But, Josiah,’ I said, ‘are you sure it’s legal to write it yourself’ ‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘A lawyer told me it was all right, just as long as I wrote it myself and signed it. But I did have it witnessed’”**

**“Do you know who witnessed the will?” Nancy broke in** , knowing it was a long shot.

**“No. He didn’t say.”**

**“Haven’t you any idea what became of the will?” Nancy asked hopefully.**

**“Well, I remember Josiah did say something about putting it where nobody could get it unless they had legal authority. But I really don’t know what became of it.”**

**“Are you certain that was all Mr. Crowley said?” Nancy inquired gently. She recalled the Turners saying that Abby had become forgetful.**

**The elderly woman shook her head and sighed. “Many a night I’ve lain awake trying to think what else he did say about where he would put that will. I just can’t recollect.”**

**“Try to think!” Nancy begged.** She could hear her father’s voice in the back of her head telling her she was pushing this too far and to leave the humans alone, but she couldn’t help it – she was so close to the truth!

**“I can’t remember,” Abby Rowen murmured hopelessly. “I’ve tried and tried.” She leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes, as though the effort had exhausted her.**

**At that very moment the clock on the mantel chimed twelve. Abby’s eyes fluttered open and an odd expression passed over her face.**

**For an instant she stared straight before her, then slowly turned her head and fastened her eyes on the clock.**


	10. Secret of the Old Clock (part 6)

**Nancy watched Abby Rowen intently as the mantel clock finished striking. The elderly woman’s lips had begun to move.**

**“The clock!” she whispered. “That was it! The clock!”**

**Nancy gripped the arms of her chair in excitement. “Josiah Crowley hid the will in a clock?” she prompted.**

**“No—no, it wasn’t that,” Abby murmured, sighing again. “I know Josiah said something about a clock, but whatever it was has slipped my mind.”**

**Silence descended over the room. Nancy was wondering what connection the timepiece could have with the missing will. Mrs. Rowen was staring at the clock, evidently still trying to probe her memory.**

**Suddenly she gave a low cry. “There! It came to me just like that!”**

**“What, Mrs. Rowen?” Nancy urged quietly, lest she startle the old woman into forgetfulness.**

**“A notebook!” Abby exclaimed triumphantly.**

**Nancy’s two hearts gave a leap, but she forced herself to say calmly, “Please tell me more about this notebook.”**

**“Well, one day not long before he passed away, Josiah said to me, ‘Abby, after I’m dead, if my last will isn’t found, you can learn about it in this little book of mine.’”**

**“Do you know what became of the notebook, Mrs. Rowen?”**

**“Oh dearie me! There goes my memory again. No, I don’t.”**

**Although baffled, Nancy felt a growing conviction that the whereabouts of the Crowley will was definitely tied up with a clock of some kind.** It was a peculiar choice of hiding place for a human’s belongings, for sure. A Gallifreyan though, or especially a time lord, was an entirely different matter…

“Must have been a family clock,” Nancy said instead.

“Oh, yes, an old mantle clock. Fancier than what I have. Had the phases of the moon on it too.”

As the older woman went silent as she pondered this, a crash resounded upstairs!

“Oh my!” Mrs. Rowen cried in fright. “The neighbor or I must have left a window open and the wind’s blown something down.”

“That’s no wind,” Nancy disagreed. “You’ve an intruder. I’ll investigate.”

“You’re a child! I can’t have you in danger.”

“I’m not…” Nancy trailed off with a sigh. No use protesting. “I’ll wait five minutes,” she said, trying to sound more reassuring than dejected. The culprit was literally upstairs and she couldn’t nab him!

When she did go upstairs, she found it looked like a tornado had blown through. Yanked-out drawers and overturned furniture presented Nancy with a pretty clear picture. Taking a magnifying glass out of her pocket, she squeezed the handle and scanned the glass around the room. The faint discoloration marks on Mrs. Rowen’s damaged belongings indicated alien DNA. “Seems the thief was after your jewelry,” she reported when she came back down. “You’ll want to make a police report.”

“I don’t understand, he came in while we are both in the house! He could have hurt either of us!”

“He didn’t,” Nancy said firmly. “Could I please use your phone?”

*************************

“You could have been hurt, Nancy!”

“Not you too, Livie…”

“Sometimes the people outside of your head are right, you know.”

“Sometimes.”

“Fine. Don’t let an adult hear you say that. Amateur.”

Nancy stuck her tongue out at Livie.

“Don’t let an adult see that either. You said you wanted to come with me today, so you gotta behave.”

“Girls! Come to help with the food pantry? Olivia, who have you brought with you?”

Mrs. Mahoney, a smartly dressed, jovial woman with her dark curly hair tucked up under a neat hat and framing her motherly, dark face, pulled Livie into a side hug that squished the smaller girl. Nancy smirked at this clash of characters.

“This is Nancy, my young friend. She wanted to help,” Livie said, just as the two girls had rehearsed. It wasn’t completely false, but Nancy’s main mission was eavesdropping on the people gathered.

“Splendid! How’s your father doing, dear?” Livie raised an eyebrow but quickly discarded the thought that people know that Nancy was a Drew would be weird because, well, why not? It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that happened lately.

“Very well, thank you.”

The two girls found stations behind the serving tables and began to help out. Nancy noticed Livie beginning to zone out, so she tuned in to the voices around her.

“Did you hear? The Cornings were robbed yesterday.”

Nancy’s hearts sank at the sound of her friend’s family’s poor fortune.

“No! Was it Louise’s or Rosemary’s? No wonder they aren’t here.”

“Rosemary’s. She’s got enough of a handful looking after her dear mother Flora. This is the last thing they need.”

“Do they know who it was?”

“No, but you know that house’s history…”

“What’s history got to do with it?”

“Back before…” Mrs. Mahoney looked around. Nancy realized why. “Back before the Civil War. When we landed here.”

Livie didn’t seem to notice. Several of the African-American women assembled in the church basement kept serving food without paying heed to the whispers of Mrs. Mahoney or her companions.

“Original owner completely went off the radar, you know. When a human family, the Cornings, bought that house, they said it was like time itself haunting them. No one knows what he put in that house, but it was his.”

“No one’s thought to check?”

“A Time Lord’s private business is just that – his business. Unless he entrusted his memories or his belongings to someone, who are we to interfere?”

“If he wanted to be left alone, why didn’t he move back to Bayport, or even a farm further south?

“Who knows? Stubborn, we are.”

“True. But we came here in order to reject such selfishness.”

 _It’s just like the Josiah Crowley case_ , Nancy mused. A person so secretive that even their will is kept hidden at the expense of their loved ones. Why couldn’t humans and Gallifreyans alike recognize that their actions had consequences?

Not to mention, she now needed to interview Helen – preferably before the furniture thieves struck again.

“Nancy? You look like you’re a bit lost in yourself,” Livie cut in, breaking through the young Gallifreyan’s thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“We’ve only got about another hour here before we go to your friend Bess’s birthday party, yeah? Relax. You’re going to be with your friends soon.”

Nancy tried to heed Livie’s advice, but her head was too far in the mystery for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read the Nancy Drew: Girl Detective series, you may recognize Mrs. Mahoney.  
> If I may make a bold statement: this chapter is dedicated to my girlfriend, who encourages me in this :)


	11. Part 7

Livie was positive she must have entered a different dimension.

The child-sized people around her were dressed so oddly – many in robes on top of their jeans, some wearing elaborate dresses under more sensible cardigans. Even Nancy pulled a brooch out of her pocket to pin to her cardigan, signifying that she’d evidently gotten the memo about the dress code.

“What are you standing there for, Livie? Come on, I want to introduce you to people.”

“Nancy! I’m so glad you could come!” A blonde girl similarly aged to Nancy ran through the crowd to hug her friend. Glancing at Livie, she raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this? Hello.”

“This is my friend Livie! She’s working for my dad right now.” Livie raised a hand in greeting, and Bess relaxed.

“Lovely party. I apologize for being a bit out of place.”

“No problem! I’m happy to make a new friend. I’m Bess. I’m in Nancy’s class.” Livie nodded as Bess pulled Nancy to the side and whispered in her ear: “Have you told her _anything_ yet?”

“No, I think she’s gonna catch on soon.”

“Who’s gonna catch on soon?” Curly-haired George bounded up next to her friends.

“Livie is smart! She’s okay.”

“Yeah, but she’s human. Some of them aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed.”

“She’s different. Can’t you tell?”

“Hmm…” George peered at Livie, who was looking around with awe at the assembled children still. “Perhaps when you get to know her.”

“You see it, right?”

“I see there’s something…off. But it’s probably not her fault.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake...let’s just get on with the party!” Bess groaned. “Voila, we are party plus Livie! We have food! Everything will be fine.”

“Is everything about food with you…” George trailed off as Bess shoved a piece of quiche into her cousin’s mouth. Nancy snorted with laughter before turning around to drag her human friend into the fray.

“Guess I’m glad I wore my Sunday best,” Livie quipped. “…you really want to go after your friend Helen here?”

Nancy gawked at her. “I never said…”

“I heard enough. You’ve mentioned Helen. I am not dull, Nance. I know when secrets are being kept and I can respect that,” – she muttered this sentence reluctantly – “but I have to look out for you too.”

Nancy looked down guiltily.

“Oh, for pity’s sake… You’ve a party and a friend to care for! Onward! Besides, I’m hungry.”

Nancy blushed gratefully before dodging people to get to Helen.

“Helen! It’s…it’s good to see you.”

Helen managed a half smile in response.

“I…heard about your aunt.”

Helen sighed. “I suppose all your species has heard about it by now. What with your brains all connected and stuff.”

“Our brains aren’t connected. That’s a myth. We read minds and emotions; that’s the trick. And most people don’t let their minds be read anyway.”

“Okay, okay, fine…my mother’s over at my aunt’s. She and Grandma are very upset.”

“What did they take, do you know?”

“Oh, almost all the family heirlooms! Grandma’s husband, my Grandpa Everett who’s dead, was a collector of old boring coins and fancy Dutch furniture…”

“Fancy Dutch furniture?”

“Yeah. He was weird. My grandma hadn’t even been in that part of the house where he kept it for ages. But, apparently it was worth a lot of money so now… my mama says we might have money problems.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Yeah…” Helen gratefully accepted a hug from her friend.

“Your family doesn’t deserve that. Is there any way I can investigate the area that was robbed?”

“Nancy!” Helen admonished. “I’m not allowed to go there! My mama says it’s dangerous, which means it is for you too!”

“I understand,” Nancy said. “So I won’t be going in alone.”

*******************

“No.”

“Livie!”

“No! Do you know what they do to little black girls they accuse of a crime? They get put on a chain gang and forced into hard labor until they keel over!”

“…Do they really do that?”

“Well…I read that they do that to men so they must do at least that to girls!”

“They’re not going to hurt you,” Nancy said, holding back a grown. Humans freaked out way too much, she decided. “I’ll tell them you’re with me.”

“That makes it worse, they’ll think I ‘bewitched’ you into sin or something like that.”

“Okay, now that’s crazy.”

“I literally read that in a news article last week.”

“…okay, then.” This was going to be harder than she thought.

“My dad will vouch for you.”

“He might, but he still wouldn’t want you or me breaking into someone’s house.”

“Fair enough, but Helen said we could do it.”

“That’s for her aunt to decide, technically. Or her grandmother, if she’s not senile.”

“We wouldn’t even be going in the part that they care about!”

“It’s probably off limits because of decay and parts of the wood falling apart or something. Do you know anything about that?”

“…yes!”

“I legitimately can’t tell if that’s bravado or not.”

“Oh, come on!”

“When do you want to do this? At night? You want to give Helen’s relatives heart attacks?”

“No, silly, there’d be no light in the house at night. We’ll go in the daytime, after school while Helen is visiting.”

“Oh goody, she’s an accessory.”

“Would you rather she wasn’t?”

“I suppose not.”

“We’ll get in and get out. We’ll barely be noticed.”


End file.
